


Interlude I - in clear waters

by LilaDiurne



Series: Bodies of Water [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Anxiety, Established Relationship, M/M, Moving In Together, Sexual Content, Violinist Harry, Writer Severus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22413874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilaDiurne/pseuds/LilaDiurne
Summary: He thought it would get old, but it doesn’t. It’s funny how Severus is only ever aware of his own heartbeats when in Harry’s presence. The rest of the time, he could be walking around with a dead organ inside his chest and he would be none the wiser.May 2013. Set a month afterwith great outbursts and lightnings, a short insight on an important day of Severus’ life.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: Bodies of Water [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/905439
Comments: 50
Kudos: 182





	Interlude I - in clear waters

**Author's Note:**

> This was completely unplanned as of a few days ago, and was written over the course of two days. It’s just a little interlude before the next big part of the story. And just an excuse to write smut, maybe.
> 
> You should read part 1 first, of course, because all the info is there, and I’ve been told that it’s great, but I won’t force you into anything.
> 
> Finally, quick reminder that I’m on Tumblr as liladiurne. Stop by and say hello.

* * *

**Interlude I**

**in clear waters**

* * *

**SUNDAY, 5 MAY**

Severus wakes before the alarm. He rarely ever sets one, being the natural early riser that he is, but he didn’t want to risk being late today. In fact, he’s not even sure he really slept at all, his head brimming as it is with erratic thoughts. He’s rarely been so nervous as he is today, so jittery with anticipation, and even in sleep – if sleep there _was_ – he hasn’t been able to escape it. There’s no way to tell if these writhing images behind his eyelids are from dreams he’s had, or just the products of his overactive mind unable to rest.

He’s barely opened his eyes when his phone chimes. As if his subconscious could have predicted it, as if something inside himself urged him to awaken at this very moment so he wouldn’t miss it. He’s wide awake at once, sitting up and reaching for the bedside table.

The messages come one after the other, in rapid succession, with barely a respite.

_Good morning!_  
_Boarding now_  
_Can’t wait!!!_  
_I fucking love you!_

He chuckles out a breath, reading the last message over and over again. If he shuts his eyes, he can almost hear Harry saying it, close to his ear, in a raspy whisper. Always with this hint of awe behind the words. This sort of disbelief at being able to say them, at meaning them.

He types in a hurry, before Harry has to turn off his phone for the flight.

_Be safe,_  
_I’ll see you soon._

And then he adds, as he always does in response.

_I love you more._

Severus rolls out of bed, first flinging open the curtains and then opening the French windows to let in the morning breeze. The air is fresh and sweet with the scent of flowers already blooming on the balconies, and he shuts his eyes for a moment, breathing it in, letting the warm sun caress his face.

Since that beautiful, wonderful, surreal morning in March, that morning when Severus finally found the courage to say those words, to express to Harry how he feels, life as he thought he knew it has taken an unexpected turn. No, not “unexpected” exactly. It’s hard to explain… He just didn’t think life could ever be so soft, so perfect. Not for him.

After that morning, after those words had been spoken, leaving everything exposed, leaving the air clear and sweet with possibilities, they had barely left each other’s presence. They would sleep at Harry’s house, or at Severus’ flat, whichever was more convenient that day – more often at the flat though, where they didn’t have to be quiet – but they had spent every single night together. And in the morning, most of the time, they had breakfast together. At the house, or at the flat. Sometimes they went out to eat. Except when Harry had to wake up early to work at the coffeeshop. On those days, Severus slept in. On other days, too.

Sleeping in is a novelty for him, but sometimes Severus just can’t find it in himself to leave the bed. Because mornings are when Harry is at his most beautiful, and Severus simply cannot get enough of watching him sleep. Of watching him wake and smile sleepily and lift his head up for a kiss, eyes still closed, finding Severus’ mouth purely by instinct.

When Harry had to work, Severus would write. Inspiration comes constantly now, without having to suffer, without having to look for it, without having to schedule it. It’s become as stable as Harry’s presence, as sweet and fulfilling.

Yes, since that morning, days have been soft and easy. Sometimes repetitive, but in a reassuring routine Severus is certain he could live the rest of his life into.

In the afternoon, they’d go to the market, or wander around London looking for small bookstores or art galleries or museums. At night, they’d cook together at the flat, or they’d have dinner with Harry’s friends – moments of absolute chaos with everyone talking all over one another at the old dining room table – and sometimes, after, they’d head down into the cellar with Ron and Baz to drink and play poker. Most of the time, though, they’d just cuddle on the sofa in front of the telly.

They’ve had dinner with Constance a few times. She’s fallen for Harry, of course, as Severus knew she would, and is asking about him every single time she calls. When Harry is around, Severus often ends up just handing him the phone and letting them chat for a few minutes. They’ve had tea with Ella twice, and Harry’s agreed that she should come visit them once they’re settled in Paris.

There’s been some unpleasantness, of course, as there always is, even in the best of worlds.

In early April, Severus tried to get in touch with his old agent in London and was informed that the man had retired three years before. The agency referred him to a young woman named Charlotte, whose enthusiasm for his work at least makes up for her blunt manners. She was already used to travelling a lot, so meeting him in Paris once in a while won’t be a problem at least. A month later, she’s already found a potential publisher, even though Severus’ novel is still in the works. And though he told her he doesn’t do well with deadlines she’s been giving him some anyway. At least the stress hasn’t been too bad so far. He can only hope it’ll stay that way.

And there was that one day, the 10th of April. When Harry woke up in the middle of the night with a stifled scream, unable to breathe. And it took Severus a good twenty minutes of holding him and stroking his hair and back to get him to calm down. There was no need to ask what the nightmare was about, not with the way Harry shook violently in his arms, not with the terrified look on his face and how he clutched at Severus when he finally understood he was safe. It was already morning by the time Harry managed to fall back asleep, and Severus had called Tamlyn to tell her Harry was sick and couldn’t come to work. When Harry woke up in early afternoon and showed no signs of getting out of bed, Severus fetched a book and slipped back under the covers with him. Propped up against the headboard, with Harry pressed into his side, one hand stroking his hair, the other holding the book, Severus had read to him for the rest of the day, until his voice was hoarse, while Harry slipped in and out of sleep. Later in the evening, he got Harry to eat a little bit and to leave the bed long enough to take a shower. Then, when Harry said he wanted to go back to bed, Severus let him. He slept peacefully for the rest of the night, and when morning came, he was back to his usual self. He tried to apologise, but Severus wouldn’t have it. There was nothing to apologise for.

Amongst all that, planning the move to Paris has been easy, at least. Thanks to Marine and Fabrice, Severus hasn’t had to travel back and forth constantly. Once all of Colin’s things had been packed and given away to charity, as planned, Severus simply told them what else he wanted to dispose of, and they selflessly got it done. Whenever something new was delivered, either Marine or Madame Mirbeau or Loïc would make sure it arrived safely.

Every time he caught Severus arranging any of this – making phone calls or ordering new items – Harry would frown and tell him there was no need for that. _I’ll be happy just to be with you, I don’t care where_ , he’d say softly.

Yes, after that morning he’d been with Harry constantly, and Severus is convinced it’s been the best month of his entire life. But eventually, the move had to be made, and knowing Harry was nervous about it – scared although he wouldn’t admit it – Severus had decided he wanted everything to be ready when Harry arrived. Which meant they would need to be apart for a little while.

The phone, still clutched in his hand, starts vibrating as the alarm rings. Severus shuts it off and stands there, appreciating the moment.

It’s 7:30 on the 5th of May, and it’s been ten days, fourteen hours, and thirty-eight minutes since he’s last seen Harry.

They’ve talked, of course. Constantly. There hasn’t been a day started without a good morning text. There hasn’t been a breakfast without a quick call over coffee, an afternoon without a messaged summary of what they’re up to. There hasn’t been an evening without an hours-long call that always ends in husky whispers and moans and detailed descriptions of what they would do to each other if they could touch.

Ten days of not seeing Harry’s face, of not watching those gorgeous lips of his curl into that smile that jolts Severus’ heart every time. Ten days of not kissing Harry’s neck, of not running his fingers through Harry’s hair. Of not waking up to Harry’s soft breath on his cheek as they sleep, curled up together like small animals searching for warmth. Ten days without being able to stare into Harry’s green eyes and without Harry staring back at him tenderly.

Ten bloody days. It’s about as much as he can bear.

But as he stands there, watching the city slowly awaken, Severus smiles. Because today, finally, Harry is coming home.

He keeps smiling as he dresses hurriedly in the clothes that he picked out the night before. New trousers and a jumper thick enough that he won’t have to wear a jacket this morning. Half of the closet and half of the drawers in the dresser are empty, ready to accommodate Harry’s things, and Severus cannot wait to see them filled.

In the bedroom, he’s changed the bedding. He’s kept the dark blue sheets he bought shortly after meeting Harry and covered them with a grey bedspread. On top of the long, white curtains, he’s installed a second set of thicker drapes, in the same grey as the comforter. He loves the way the darker shades contrast with the white walls and hardwood floors.

In the living room, Severus has kept the same colour palette – blues and greys on white. He’s gotten rid of Colin’s sofa and bought a new, bigger one. On the other armchairs he’s had the upholstery changed to match the sofa, and he’s bought a different area rug. The curtains have been modified too, in darker shades, like the rest. He’s even bought a telly, possibly the first one this apartment’s ever seen. As for the rest, for accessories and décor, Severus hasn’t kept much except the huge mirror over the mantel. It looks a little empty for now – or “minimalistic”, as Marine said with a shrug – but he wants to go shopping with Harry, so they can choose new items together.

Colin’s studio, newly emptied and cleaned, is now Harry’s to do with as he pleases. Severus has had shelves installed on the walls for him to fill, as well as a desk and a sofa near the window.

He knows all those changes weren’t necessary, of course. He knows Harry means what he said, that he doesn’t care as long as he’s with him. But Severus wanted to make those changes regardless. He wants Harry to feel at home here, not like he’s just stepped out of his own life and into Severus’. He wants Harry to feel like they’re starting something new. Together.

But he hasn’t only done it for Harry. He needs this for himself as well, for his new life without Colin. A new décor for a new output.

And so, Severus has been running around hectically for ten days, neglecting everything else, neglecting his writing and his deadlines. For ten days he’s been trying to build a home for Harry. He’s ordered a reproduction of that Whistler painting Harry loves and installed it in their bedroom, hoping it’ll remind him of home. And he even found Harry a beautiful, antique music stand at a flea market a few days ago, and it’s ready for him to use in the spot where Colin’s easel once stood. Severus also bought more houseplants, because Harry likes them. And he’s growing herbs on a shelf near the kitchen window, for cooking. Because Harry said he’d always wanted to do this, but there was never enough light in the kitchen at Grimmauld.

The final touch – and Severus knows Harry might think it’s starting to be a bit too much, but he couldn’t help himself – is still boxed and gift-wrapped on the kitchen counter. A high-end espresso machine they’d once seen in a store and Harry mentioned he’d kill for.

In the kitchen, Severus turns the radio on for company, and just as he contemplates whether to have breakfast, his phone rings and he sees Marine’s name on the screen.

“ _Is he there yet?_ ” she asks as soon as he answers.

“ _Not yet. He just texted me to say he’s boarding,_ ” Severus says as he opens the refrigerator to pour himself a tall glass of orange juice. _“I’m heading for the airport soon to pick him up_.”

He can hear the grin in her voice as she continues, “ _Oh_ , _thank God! You can finally stop being miserable now_.”

“ _I haven’t been misera–_ ”

“ _Right. Anyway, Tanguy confirmed they’re coming tonight._ ”

“ _Marine_ ,” he groans in annoyance. “ _Who else did you invite? I told you I wanted to check with Harry first. He might just want to have a quiet evening in_.”

She huffs in equal annoyance. “ _You’ll have all the time in the world for quiet evenings! I want to meet him! And it would just be Fabrice and me, and Tanguy and Clément, that’s it. And it’s just dinner_.”

He sighs heavily. “ _Look, I can’t talk now, I have to go. Just don’t invite anyone else! And don’t bring wine if Clément’s coming,_ ” he adds as a warning.

“ _Fine, fine, I won’t invite anyone else. I promise_.”

“ _And the wine?_ ” he insists.

She clicks her tongue. “ _Whatever_.”

“ _Marine, don’t bring wine!_ ”

“ _We’ll see. Call me back later_.”

She hangs up before he can say any more, but Severus can’t quite find it in himself to be upset with her. Or with anything, really. Not today.

He was planning to wait a little longer, but he decides to call a taxi now. Who knows how long the ride to the airport will be with the traffic, even on a Sunday? The flight from London is quite short and he’ll never be able to forgive himself if Harry arrives and he’s not there to welcome him.

As it happens, he’s standing before the British Airways arrivals gate fifty minutes too early, pacing. He was going to grab coffee, but since he’s already shaking with nerves, it’s probably unnecessary at this point.

He breathes in deeply, steadily, shoving his shaking hands in the pockets of his trousers. There’s nothing to be nervous about, he _knows_ that. It’s just anticipation, after not seeing Harry for such a long time. Ten days, after they’d been together almost every second for a month. If his hands shake, he suspects it might be from not being able to hold Harry or to touch him. Withdrawal in its purest form.

By the time Harry’s plane lands, Severus has almost carved a path in the airport floor with his pacing. Phone clutched in his hand in case Harry texts, he watches the crowd intently as passengers start to pour in. A group of teenage girls on a trip. Some businessmen. Tourists. Just a sea of unimportant faces, of people who don’t matter.

As the seconds pass and Harry fails to show up, Severus’ anxiety eventually kicks in. What if Harry’s changed his mind? What if he’s decided he doesn’t want to abandon his life in London, his house, his friends? What if he’s decided that Severus isn’t worth the trouble after all? Maybe at the last minute, when the moment came to board the plane, he’s turned back and hasn’t yet had the courage to text or call to tell Severus the truth.

And then, all of a sudden, Harry walks through the doors, with his violin case in one hand and a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. He’s dressed in black jeans and trainers, a grey t-shirt, and a navy-blue jacket.

Severus’ breath catches in his throat at the sight of him.

He thought it would get old, but it doesn’t. It’s funny how he’s only ever aware of his own heartbeats when in Harry’s presence. The rest of the time, he could be walking around with a dead organ inside his chest and he would be none the wiser.

God, Harry is beautiful. Ten days was almost long enough for Severus to forget just how much.

And when Harry’s eyes finally find his in the crowd, Severus tries to breathe around the burning knot in his throat, to manage a smile when all he wants to do is weep with relief. Even from this distance he can see Harry’s lips trembling, his eyes tearing up. As the crowd starts to disperse, Harry rushes over, almost running, and when he reaches Severus, he drops his things to the floor, a little carelessly perhaps. By that time, Severus’ arms are already open, he only has to walk into them.

Closing his eyes and breathing steadily through the furious pounding of his heart, Severus holds him tight. Harry is shaking, face pressed into his neck, his fingers clutching at the back of Severus’ jumper, and without thinking, as is natural for him to do so by now, Severus raises a hand to stroke through the boy’s hair gently.

They stand there, just holding each other, for a long time. A very long time, it seems, because when Severus finally opens his eyes to look around, he catches people staring, some of them curiously, most of them fondly. Normally, he would be embarrassed, but at the moment he doesn’t really give a shit about anyone but Harry. Plus, this is Paris, where no one really cares who you love. But still, he wonders if they know, if they can tell, as they look at the two of them, what they mean to each other, what they _really_ mean to each other. Do they know the importance of the moment they’re witnessing now?

“Hi,” Harry finally says, softly into his neck. He sounds choked up, out of breath, and grips Severus’ jumper even tighter.

Severus cups Harry’s head and lifts his chin to finally look into his face. “Hi,” he replies, just as speechless, bringing his thumb to Harry’s cheek to wipe away a tear. “Welcome home,” he adds in a whisper.

Harry smiles then, brightly, blindingly, despite the fact that he was crying only a moment ago. “I missed you so fucking much. I’m so happy,” he mumbles, looking like he very well might start sobbing openly any second now.

Half laughing, Severus presses a kiss to his forehead when all he wants to do is to snog him senseless. “Stop crying,” he murmurs urgently, “or I’ll start crying too, and I don’t look good when I cry. You don’t want that.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll try,” Harry laughs, wiping at his eyes swiftly before retrieving his violin case from the floor.

Severus frowns, picking up Harry’s duffle bag. “Is that all you brought?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Harry…” Severus sighs. “I _told_ you it was okay to bring–”

“I know, I know,” Harry chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m joking. I checked in two suitcases as well. I knew if I got here just with that, you’d have a fit,” he says, jerking his chin towards the bag, which Severus has already slung onto his own shoulder.

As they wait for the suitcases, Severus presses himself to Harry’s side and wraps his arm around Harry’s waist tightly. He doesn’t care if everyone sees. After ten bloody days, he doesn’t care about anything else. And he can’t stop looking at Harry as he watches the carousel. At his beautiful face and his tousled hair and the way the corner of his mouth curves ever so slightly because, of course, he can feel Severus’ gaze.

God, he can’t wait to be home. He can’t wait to be home so he can kiss Harry properly, away from prying eyes. So they can finally touch each other. So they can make up for those ten, long, endless bloody days.

He urgently, desperately, despairingly wants to suck Harry off. He wants to make him come. He wants to watch him and hear him moan and…

“There’s one!” Harry announces, pointing at a suitcase and bringing Severus out of his trance. “That black one over there.”

Harry babbles eagerly as they wait in line for a taxi, talking about random things, pointing out sights around the airport, amazed at how nice the weather is. Severus acknowledges this, and he can’t stop contemplating Harry’s face in the morning light. Harry smirks every time he catches him staring, wrapping their fingers together and squeezing his hand in response.

He’s mostly silent during the car ride, immersed in contemplation of the city, his nose almost pressed to the window, speaking up now and then to comment on different sights, on buildings or bridges or churches. In French, Severus asks the driver to get off the highway and take a detour through the 11ᵉ arrondissement so that Harry can see Père Lachaise and the Place de la Bastille. The man obeys, and he’s just turned on the radio to some rock station that plays oldies when an Indochine song comes on.

It occurs to Severus that he used to listen to this song when he was around Harry’s age. Yes, he must have been around eighteen or nineteen when that came out. He wonders, not for the first time, what would have happened if he’d met Harry when they were the same age, in some sort of alternate universe.

 _Nothing_ would have happened, of course. Nothing would have come of it. There’s no way Harry would have wanted _him_ at nineteen, even in some twisted parallel universe. God, at that age Severus was all sharp angles and elbows and pimples and bitter defensiveness. And even if _some_ boys did like him enough to climb into bed with him, none of them ever came close to this one here. This otherworldly creature.

No, despite all that, Severus knows with certainty that if they’d met as teenagers, Harry would have caused his death. Harry would have rejected him, killed him with longing.

Severus shakes the thought away and squeezes the boy’s hand. Harry, who’s been humming along to the music, smiles brightly at him before turning back to the window.

Harry gasps when the car finally stops in front of the building. “Oh shit! Is this it?”

“This is it,” Severus announces as he hands the driver a few bills. “ _It’s okay, keep the change_ ,” he adds.

Harry’s held on to his violin case for the whole trip, refusing to put it away with the rest of his luggage, and he clutches it tightly as he stands on the sidewalk, staring at the building in awe while Severus helps the driver take his bag and suitcases out of the car.

“You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?” Harry mumbles after the car is gone, when Severus hands him his duffel bag so he can carry the suitcases. “You’re not really living here. This is a joke.”

Severus shakes his head, heading for the front door and gesturing for Harry to do the same. “No, I’m not living here. _We_ are,” he corrects, digging into his pocket before handing Harry the new set of keys he’s had made a few days ago. “These are yours. The gold one is for the inside door, and the black one is our door.”

“Fuck,” Harry says softly as he takes them, obviously overwhelmed. But next second, he’s beaming in enthusiasm and opening the outer door to let Severus inside.

They’re in the lobby, waiting for the lift, Harry staring around in open admiration, clutching at Severus’ arm excitedly, when Loïc comes down the stairs. He’s smiling at Severus and is about to say something when he stops short at the sight of Harry.

“Oh, hello,” he says after a few seconds, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face. “You must be Harry.”

“This is Loïc,” Severus introduces, and he can’t help the slight smirk that forces itself onto his lips.

If he ever doubted that Loïc was gay before, he now has the absolute confirmation. The boy is practically devouring Harry with his gaze.

Harry grins, reaching out to shake his hand. “Hi! Nice to meet you. Severus told me a lot about you.”

“I heard a lot about you too,” Loïc says, smiling broadly now. “And I was thinking, the other day, when Severus told me you were coming, that since you don’t really know anyone in the city, maybe you’d like to come hang out with me and my friends sometime. They’re idiots,” he adds with a cringe, “and their English sucks, but I’m good at it, and I’m very smart.”

Harry laughs at that, and Severus doesn’t miss the way Loïc’s gaze falls to his lips very briefly. “I’d like that, yeah.”

“Do you play foot?” Loïc asks at once, in this friendly, outgoing way that’s so properly his own.

Harry shrugs. “Uh yeah, sure. I mean, I can manage.”

“We play on the weekends, just for fun. You’re welcome to join.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll let you know when I’m settled in and all.”

“That’s great!” Loïc announces, slapping Severus on the back before heading for the front door. “Have a nice day, you guys!” he calls out over his shoulder.

“Barely off the plane and making friends already, are you?” Severus teases as the lift finally opens and he drags Harry’s suitcases inside.

Harry frowns, only for a second. “Do you mind? If I go out with them, I mean?”

Severus shakes his head fondly. “Of course not, love,” he says, pressing the button for the seventh floor. “I want you to be happy here. And to make friends. I _want_ you to go out and have fun. I’m not expecting you to spend every second with me, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says softly. “I’d be happy to, though.”

The lift is quite slow, but it beats climbing up seven long flights of stairs.

“I thought places like this only existed in movies,” Harry remarks as they reach their floor, contemplating the high ceiling and twisting staircase.

Severus jerks his head to the right, towards their door. “It’s that one there. 702. Why don’t you try out your new key?”

Harry takes it out of his pocket and opens the door easily, hands shaking with anticipation. Severus follows him inside, closing the door behind him. He props the suitcases against the wall near the bedroom door and takes Harry’s bag and violin, adding them to the pile of luggage. Then he watches as Harry makes his way slowly along the corridor, peeking into the rooms curiously, one by one, until he emerges into the light-filled living room and stops in the centre of it, unmoving.

“I know it looks a little bland,” Severus says, following him into the room, “but I thought we could go and pick out things together. And if there’s something you don’t like, we can change it,” he adds, suddenly nervous at Harry’s silence. “It doesn’t have to stay this way, I only thought… I mean, I did what I thought you’d like.”

Harry nods silently, his gaze wandering around the room, taking everything in. Then, slowly, he shrugs off his jacket, hesitating. “Where can I… put this?” he asks, looking around, somewhat bewildered.

“Wherever you want, love,” Severus says softly. “This is your home.”

Harry nods, drapes his jacket on the back of the sofa without a word, without looking at him. Severus’ heart is beating madly. He’s at a complete loss, trying to understand what Harry might be feeling in this moment.

Has he changed his mind? Does he want to go back to London? That’s what it is, isn’t it? He’s just realised he’s made a mistake. He hates this place. He doesn’t want to be here.

He manages, somehow, to let the words out. “Harry… If you want to go back… I won’t force you to stay...”

When Harry finally looks up at him, his eyes are filled with tears. “I don’t want to go back…” he chokes out, and it’s all it takes for Severus to wrap his arms around him. “I don’t want you to think that… That’s not what I…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Severus says tenderly, pressing his lips to Harry’s temple. “It’s okay. Just… tell me what’s going on, will you? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says weakly. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just all so perfect, and I don’t know what to say. I just can’t believe I’m finally here… with you. I just missed you so much,” he finishes with a soft sob.

Severus cups his face, presses their lips together once, twice, then again, his thumbs wiping the tears from Harry’s cheeks for the second time this morning. “I missed you too,” he mumbles against Harry’s lips before kissing him again, fully. Properly.

He can’t ignore the lurch in the pit of his stomach anymore, and neither does Harry, apparently, because he leans heavily into Severus’ body, grasping at him, always desperate for this closeness, this electrifying pull between them that never gets weaker, that never gets old. Harry’s standing on tiptoes, arms winding around his neck, fingers curling into his hair. Severus wears it longer now, just for him, just for this.

He likes to kiss Harry with his eyes open. He likes to watch it all, every emotion that crosses the boy’s face. The way his eyelids flutter, the way his brow furrows, the way his mouth slackens with lust. He just can’t get enough of watching Harry, even while they’re kissing. He’ll never get enough of it.

This boy. Sometimes Severus looks at him and he can’t believe his eyes. He can’t believe that this boy is his. That this boy loves him, this boy that sets off a fire inside him, fills his ribcage with warmth and sparks.

 _You look at him like he’s magic_ , Hermione’s once said.

Because he _is_. If there is magic in this world, Harry is it. It courses through every fibre of his being.

“Severus,” Harry mumbles, his mouth curving into a smile against Severus’ own.

And he’ll never tire of the way his name sounds from Harry’s lips. Every syllable caressed like something precious. Like a dead language resurfaced, never heard by anyone living. Like a prayer. Like a key. An answer.

Harry locks his hands behind Severus’ neck, brushes their cheeks together, leaning in soft and tender, like a cat. “Take me to bed?” he whispers.

Harry’s tongue is hot and insistent in his mouth as Severus tries to lead him back along the hallway towards the bedroom. They break apart for a second, kicking off their shoes towards the front door, and then their bodies are pressed flush against each other again.

Severus’ shoulder hits the doorway hard as they stumble into the room, and he moans in pain, but Harry’s tongue is stealing his breath and they sway towards the bed, lips still locked together.

The slow, wet sounds of their mouths, of their breaths, of their sighs, is magnified in the quiet bedroom. Somewhere in the distance, from the small radio in the kitchen, an old French song is playing, the notes drifting in so low that Severus can barely make out the words or the melody.

He pulls away from Harry just long enough to yank the thinner curtains shut, blocking the view but not the light that keeps filtering through and bathing the room in a golden glow. Then he sits on the bed and pulls Harry into his lap. For a second, they stay there, embracing, not kissing but looking at each other, foreheads pressed together. Harry’s face is haloed with light and he looks so beautiful that Severus wants to take this moment and tuck it away for safekeeping.

“I love you,” he rasps, pressing his lips to Harry’s neck, feeling Harry gasp when his teeth graze the thin skin of his throat, and Harry moves his hips, rocking against him. They’re both hard already. Painfully so.

“I love you,” Harry moans, fingers carding through Severus’ hair as he sucks greedily at his throat.

“I love you more,” Severus repeats, wet and damp, half a kiss against Harry’s skin, letting his lips travel up to Harry’s ear, then to his cheek and back to his lips for another kiss.

Harry reaches down to open Severus’ trousers and grasp his cock, stroking the wet tip, and Severus moans brokenly, grabbing the boy’s face to press a fierce kiss to his lips, tongue slipping into his mouth, licking at his teeth. God, he won’t last. It’s been too long. Too fucking long.

Then Harry lets go of his cock and grabs one of his hands instead, sucking three fingers into his mouth, hard, getting them wet. He knows what this does to Severus, and his eyes get this knowing look every time, this teasing, defying look. Like he’s daring Severus to resist, although he knows full well that he’s already won.

“Lie down, love,” Severus drawls, nudging him off his lap. “Let me make you feel good.”

Even now, after all this time, after all the times they’ve done this, Harry is shy as he pulls his t-shirt off and lies flat on his back. But he smiles softly, propping up on his elbows to watch Severus strip, and he lets Severus undress him, pull his jeans down and off, discarding them on the floor. And he moans when Severus runs both hands along his thighs, leans in to kiss his stomach, nose pressed to his skin, inhaling the familiar smell of him.

It’s too much. It’s been too long. He can’t wait anymore.

He slides Harry’s boxers down his legs, and as soon as they’re thrown somewhere around the room, he takes Harry in his mouth

“Fuck yes!” Harry moans as Severus rubs the flat of his tongue to the sensitive underside of his cock.

With shaky hands, Harry sinks his fingers in Severus’ hair, pulling at the locks, and Severus raises his gaze to watch him, just in time to see Harry tip his head back and breathe out, long and shaky, staring at the ceiling above, helpless in his pleasure.

He pulls off Harry’s cock gently. “You okay?” he asks. Because even after all this time, he still feels the need to ask. The fear is always there, in the back of his mind. Every second.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes out. “So good… don’t stop…”

Severus spits a fat glob of saliva into the palm of his hand, rubbing his fingers into it before hiking Harry’s legs up for better access and pressing against Harry’s hole.

“Yessss!” Harry gasps again, lifting his hips as Severus rubs his hole, getting it wet with his spit. “Fuck… Sev…” he moans loudly when Severus’ mouth takes his cock again, sliding a finger inside and thrusting gently. “I’m gonna come…”

It only takes a few more sucks and a few more thrusts of Severus’ finger for Harry to moan loudly as he comes, pulling sharply on Severus’ hair.

Severus swallows him down and presses messy kisses to the inside of his thighs afterwards. The bedroom is flooded in light, and Harry looks absolutely ethereal spread out like this, spent and breathing shallowly, shaking with the aftershocks.

He kisses along Harry’s hipbones and up his torso, and Harry moans, stretching his legs and feet. Severus smiles fondly down at him.

“You can fuck me… if you want…” Harry mumbles.

“I want,” Severus smirks, kissing him lazily as he reaches for the lube on the bedside table.

Harry turns over onto his stomach, spreading his legs and reaching back to pull his cheeks apart. Severus almost comes on the spot, just seeing this. He squirts some lube onto his hand and presses his thumb to Harry’s hole, getting a moan in response. It doesn’t take long for him to realise that this isn’t going to work. He’s barely stuck two fingers into Harry’s hole and he’s on the cusp of coming already.

“Fuck… I won’t make it,” he rasps. “I’m too close.”

Urgently, Severus squirts some more lube onto his cock and slides it between Harry’s thighs instead, grinding against him, kissing Harry’s neck and shoulders. Though he’s just come, Harry moans in appreciation and he clenches his thighs to give Severus more friction.

Wet sounds and moans fill the room and Severus wonders for a second whether he should have shut the window, but this is the least of his worries at the moment. God knows he’s not the first man in Paris to have sex in the middle of the day with the windows open. And surely his neighbours have heard much worse over the years.

“Shiiiit…” Harry gasps into his thrusts, his thighs clenching some more around Severus’ cock, and it’s all it takes for Severus to come, hard, his gasping mouth pressed to the nape of Harry’s neck.

They lie down together, holding each other tight. Harry’s thighs and arse are wet with lube and Severus’ spit and come. He looks messy and tired and absolutely beautiful.

“I think we ruined the bedspread,” he mumbles, grinning into Severus’ neck.

Severus laughs, trailing his fingers along Harry’s back, tracing the edge of his scar. “It’s a duvet cover,” he says lazily, still trying to catch his breath. “Machine washable… and I’ve got a spare one.”

“Mmm… You always think of everything.”

Harry is silent for long time, just lying quietly in his arms.

“Are you tired?” Severus asks. “You want to sleep a little? You woke up pretty early.”

Harry lifts his head to smile up at him. “No, it’s okay. I’m not tired.”

“What time did you get home last night?” he inquires, just now remembering that Harry’s friends insisted on throwing him a farewell party in some pub in Soho.

“Not too late, don’t worry.”

He doesn’t miss the hint of irritation in Harry’ voice, nor the way the boy suddenly avoids his gaze.

He grasps Harry’s chin gently. “Hey. What happened?”

Harry sighs. “Nothing. It was fine. I just… I sort of got in a fight with Hermione. Not really a fight, but…”

Severus frowns. “With Hermione? Why?”

“Because of us,” Harry reveals, pulling away slightly to look at him better. “She just… doesn’t understand anything, Sev. She says she’s happy for us and all, but she thinks we’re moving too fast. She says it’s a bad idea, me coming here. That one of us will get hurt.”

“She just worries about you, love.”

Harry shakes his head, frowning. “I know she does, but she sounded so fucking patronising. And the others, too. They act all nice and supportive, but you should hear them. _Oh, if things don’t work out, you can always come back, don’t worry. We won’t rent out your room, it’ll still be here when you come back_. It’s like they’re expecting this to fail.”

Severus slips a hand through Harry’s hair, then caresses his neck soothingly. “They just don’t want you to get hurt. They care about you.”

“I _know_ they do,” Harry insists, but there’s frustration in his tone. “I know. It’s just… the more these things happen, the more I realise that nobody understands.”

“Nobody understands what?”

“What we have. Nobody else understands.” He hesitates, searching Severus’ face for a moment. “You know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I do,” Severus breathes out. “I do.”

They’ve never talked about this before. They’ve said _I love you_ enough times, they’ve kissed and fucked, but they’ve never acknowledged this openly. And never in a hundred years would Severus have thought Harry would be the one to bring it up.

He doesn’t say any more though, he tucks himself back into Severus’ embrace again, pressing his cheek against Severus’ heart and Severus caresses his back gently, urging his heart not to pound so hard inside his chest.

The silence that follows is heavy with meaning.

“Listen,” Severus says after a while, feeling like a change of subject might be needed. “I was going to have some people over for dinner tonight. Well, they invited themselves, really. But I can cancel if you’d rather just–”

“Marine?”

“Yes. And Fabrice. And Tanguy and Clément, too.”

“No, don’t cancel,” Harry insists. “I want to meet them.”

“Okay, good. They’ll get off my back, then. For a while at least.”

Harry chuckles. “What will you cook?”

“Pasta, I think. With roasted mushrooms and courgettes. And extra parmesan. And that rosé sauce that you like.”

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Harry moans at the thought.

Severus laughs, holding Harry’s head in both hands, caressing his scalp. “We should go to the market later.”

“Mmmm… okay. What else do we need?”

“Just vegetables. And some bread. I have the rest here. And Marine always brings wine.”

“Marine? Isn’t Clément a sommelier?”

“Yes. Marine will bring wine, and Clément will bring wine,” Severus summarises, already annoyed at the situation, which happens at every damn dinner party. “And they’ll spend the evening arguing about which one is better. You’ll get your first glimpse at arguing French people. There’s nothing like it, I assure you.”

Harry laughs softly, but they’re then interrupted by a loud growling noise coming from his stomach, and he guffaws.

Severus looks down at him, feigning horror. “Didn’t you have breakfast?”

“No, I didn’t. I was too nervous to eat anything. And it’s _your_ fault for talking about pasta.”

“We should have breakfast then.”

“Can you make me grilled cheese sandwiches with pear slices?”

“I suppose I can.”

“Yessss… I missed those so much.”

“You can make them yourself, you know. It’s not complicated.”

“I know. But it wouldn’t be as good. Besides, I’d rather eat them in bed with you.”

“So you can leave crumbs everywhere, you mean?”

“Oh, the bedspread is already ruined anyway.”

Severus groans, grabbing at Harry’s ribs playfully, and next second the apartment is filled with Harry’s bright laughter.

* * *

_Beautiful. Crushingly so.  
You look like the rest of my life._

BEAU TAPLIN


End file.
